Reelin' and Rockin'
by MrsHoldenCaulfield
Summary: A notsotypical girl in Castle Rock finally discovers that maybe there is a bit of excitement left in her hometown. Oh my, who could prove that to her...the BOYS? NOT MARYSUE! Please read and review!
1. That'll be the Day

Yes, you guys, I am now a "Stand By Me" freak! Well, the fluff is over with! I've been looking over the stories up here and I am just _sick _of all the Blah Blah comes to town stuff...seems to be in all the categories up here...well, I've come to bring the light in a dark tunnel! I present to you:

**Reelin' and Rockin'**!

Chapter 1: That'll Be the Day

It was 1962, a year–the first for me–that caused my life to turn around, three-sixty degrees. I was fifteen and bored as hell with life in general: bored with Castle Rock, my hometown, bored with school, bored with my fellow citizens. However, it never occurred to me during the first few bitingly cold months of '62 that all I needed was myself to escape this unending monotony. It was up to me. Only during the last few weeks of my sophomore year in high school did I realize that there _was_ a bit of hope left for Castle Rock–a bit.

I'm not a people person, never have been, never will be. I couldn't get along well at all with the kids that seemed to infest the advanced classes I was enrolled in...I _wouldn't_ get along with them; to me, they were just too square to understand. I guess the reason they didn't like me either was because I was exception; I'd come from a poor family which most people knew for the wrong reasons, I was absolutely crazy about Rock N' Roll (something a lot of them were still banned from listening to), and I was just...too "complicated". I hated the thought of living the simplistic life that most were then, so I did everything I could to get away from it. Plus, I was into politics. I suppose I could have put away these things and simply communicated with another person; it wasn't that easy, though it may seem so. Instead, I held them as close as I could to myself, determined to keep what was very much apart of me. It paid off, too.

I wasn't a good-looking girl, either...I'm not kidding. My mother says I could be cute if I wanted and that if I cleaned up a bit, guys would be falling all over me. Well, I say yeah right. I don't want to be cute. It's no big deal to me, my looks. I've got better things to get worked up about. I mean, how many times do you see girls getting their hearts splattered all over the place 'cause some guy doesn't like her? I've seen it more times than I can count, and no siree, that's not gonna be me cryin' in the goddam bathroom, uh-uh.

Don't get me wrong, though; I'm a nice person when it comes down to it. People just don't give me a chance. That's another thing my mom likes to criticize me about: my stupid social life. She says that the only reason I don't have friends is because I separate myself from everybody, that I don't know how to socialize. Yeah, well whatever. I don't give two shits about the people in this town, much less one.

My mother's strict...really strict. She's always told me that Rock N' Roll was devilish and that I needed some God in me...She acts like the music is ruining my life or something, like I'm going to go and murder someone after listening to "Stagger Lee" or something. Not so; I'm not that stupid. She says it's not the thing a respectable girl listens to, but whatever; there's plenty of stuff about that she says isn't what a "respectable" girl would do. She just can't understand me. And don't think I'm just some silly little teenage girl complaining that no one understands her...it's true. "I was your age once" she says. Yeah, but if I knew you when you were my age would I have been friends with you? No. Just because you've been the same age as someone doesn't mean you understand them...

But that's enough ranting on my part. On with the story.

I'm not one for wasting time. I always say wasting time leads to frustration and frustration leads to wasted energy and it's true. My mother so desperately thinks that being an artist of any type is a waste of time...no comment. So, (I'm getting to the point) when I had to choose classes to take for my sophomore year, we had this huge, unnecessary argument about what I should take. Basically my point was "If I'm miserable in a class, I won't learn anything and that would be a waste of time." Her point was "I'm your mother and I know what's best for you." Well, we compromised on something that I didn't want to take as much as Creative Writing and something that she didn't hate as much as Creative Writing: Visual Arts. It was completely terrible, but I certainly had to push myself not to just give up; I wasn't that great at drawing...at all. Writing was my thing, I could do wonders with a pen and a piece of paper, seriously. I'd just have to wait for that, though.

One advantage that came out of that, though, was finally being able to be in a class with a mix of people instead of all the stuck up snobs I was forced to live with all other hours of the day. There was a project the month before school let out which would count as an exam. The only thing I minded about it was that we had to work in partners; it wasn't a choice. I hated working in partners, I always have. I would rather have to do all the work myself and know that my grade was all in my own hands than take half the load off and leave so much of it up to another person. That makes sense, right? Of course it does.

Well, the worst thing about having partners is the part where you have to pick yours. I've always dreaded it. So, when that came, I just sat in my desk waiting for everyone to pick their friends or way of getting a good grade so that when the teacher asked who didn't have a partner, it would be and I'd either get to work by myself or work with someone that wasn't all that bad. What I never expected, was for someone to come to me, Darla Thassel, and ask to be partners.

"Hi, will you be my partner?"

I stared at my desk silently, momentarily thinking if that person was talking to me, they wouldn't sound so damn excited. I turned my head slowly, unexpectantly turning to face Vern Tessio. Well, who else? He was probably the only other person in class that was nearly as ignored as me. I shrugged and nodded, sort of happy that someone actually wouldn't mind being around me for more than five minutes, and he sat down beside me, eagerly awaiting for Mrs. Kelly to give us the instructions.

We were to "find our own style", discover ourselves or something, by collaborating with someone else in the class. These styles of ours were supposed to be distinct and most of the grade would rely on the balance of the picture and how well you could distinguish the two styles.

Vern smiled at me and I smiled back timidly, not knowing whether to laugh or cry.

Well, well, well, people. I know it's short, but hey, I always make the first chapter short. Well, review! I want to see what you guys think!


	2. Califonia Dreamin'

Chapter 2: California Dreaming

Vern and I were complete opposites no matter how you looked at it; the only thing we had in common was our height which was almost exactly the same. He wasn't exactly a rocket scientist which made me thankful that it was only an art project we were paired up to do. Like I said before, I was shy; he wasn't good with people either, but that was only because he was quite loud and most of the things he said seemed to be off-key. He was rather optimistic too (like the one time we were discussing our town the day after we'd been assigned partners, he'd said that there really was no reason to hate Castle Rock so much because we had the best ice cream for miles). Regardless of our differences, I rather liked Vern. He was a breath of fresh air, just what I seemed to need.

Vern was somewhat innocent, yes, but I was still fully aware of the fact that he was a guy–and all guys have those..._urges_–so I was a bit hesitant when it came to going over his house to start the painting. My mother was keen on me taking her bottle of mase and I did, but–c'mon–I wasn't going to use it. See, my mother was scared; I was cautious. Big difference.

Anyway, my mom drove me to his house, only about two or so miles away (I could have walked. You can walk to pretty much anywhere in Castle Rock), exchanged a couple of words with Vern's parents, and told me to be home before nine; it was five. Vern's mother–one of those _Leave it to Beaver_ types–led me to Vern's room just down the hall from the entrance.

The hall was covered in family pictures and flowery wall paper, making me feel as though I was in some house in California, not Castle Rock. I guess that's what they were aiming for.

"Vern, dear?" she said, when we got there, in the politest voice I'd ever heard any mother use when talking to her son.

He'd been laying out the large canvas we were to use to work on on his floor and setting out paints and newspaper. He stopped what he was doing at the sound of his name but did not look up.

"Darla's here. Don't waste time, you two. Dinner will be ready in about an hour." She patted me on the back encouragingly and walked off into the kitchen. I watched her for a moment until the back of her dress disappeared around the corner, then I turned my attention to Vern who didn't seem to have noticed my presence in the room.

"Hi, Vern," I said quietly, looking around his room. There were a lot of figurines scattered across his dresser, mostly Disney characters. Above that, there was a large color poster of Elvis Presley.

"You like Elvis?" I asked, not moving from my place at his doorway. He turned to me.

"Why don'tcha sit down, Darla?"

I gave a small nod and moved more into the room, making to close the door behind me.

"Wait," Vern said suddenly, startling me, "We're not allowed to close the door...mom doesn't want anything to happen."

I briefly entertained the thought of any_thing_ happening, but cleared the extremely disturbing image that it brought. What, did he too think that something could possibly happen? I was embarrassed for a moment, feeling as I reckon I would if his mother had walked in on something happening...but then I thought of the fact that my mother would have said the exact same thing.

I let my hand slide off of the doorknob and sat down on his bed with my hands in my lap, trying to think of something to do.

"Do you like Elvis?" I repeated.

He looked at me for a second, apparently not registering what I was asking. I pointed to the poster behind his head and a look of realization spread across his face.

"Oh, yeah; of course. Don't you?"

Ah, just what I needed to get comfortable: a conversation about music. I shook my head.

"No, I think he's lost his touch. I used to love him, but not anymore." It was when everyone started liking Elvis that I stopped. It seemed like his records were getting worse and worse the more famous he got. Really, you ought to see these girls at school running around talking about how they love Elvis so much. Well, _I_ was the first; and _I_ liked him for more than his looks.

"So, how are we going to do this?" Vern asked, eyeing the canvas as if it was going to paint itself as we watched.

"Well..." I wasn't exactly sure how to propose my ideas to other people. I was used to doing this type of stuff on my own, "maybe we should...draw out what we want to paint...separately first."

He looked slightly confused by my suggestion and I had to resist the urge to roll my eyes; explaining things to people was frustrating for me since I was absolutely terrible at it.

"But I thought we were supposed to do this together?"

I let out a small sigh, "Yes...yes, but since so much of our grade depends on the distinction and joining of our styles, then we should first do the distinction part. Then, we can decide on how to put the two together."

He grinned, his bright blue eyes widening as he did so, "Oh...oh yeah. Good idea." And we just sat there for a couple of moments, staring at each other.

"Um...well, we need paper," I said, trying to sound polite.

"Oh...oh yeah," he repeated and picked up a couple of pieces that had been laying beside the canvas.

He gave me a book to write on and took a seat in the chair in front of his desk.

How great of me to suggest something and not even follow up on it. I had no idea what I could draw that would possibly fit in with anything Vern would come up with. I just took a swing at it.

"You got anything yet?" I asked Vern, trying to kill time.

He turned around and shook his head hopelessly. "Nothing."

"Yeah, me neither." I sighed and stared into space for a pretty long while. This was pitiful. We'd gotten nowhere in about...whoa, twenty minutes. Didn't seem that long.

"Well," he started, facing me now, "do you have any ideas?"

I shook my head and laid the book he'd given to me down beside me on the bed. This was utterly useless...I shouldn't have listened to my damn mother and taken Creative Writing.

"Yeah, all I can think of is..._stripes_."

I laughed half-heartedly, picturing a big red "F" scrawled across the top of a test paper with my name on it in crayon.

"But, I guess Mrs. Kelly wouldn't like that very much, would she?"

"No..." I said quietly, still racking my brain for something to draw.

Vern absently gazed at the figurines on his desk. "Boy, I wish I could paint a big portrait of Mickey Mouse. Now _that_ would be cool."

"Yeah." A small smile played across my lips. At least this kid was nice. "I wish we could dry...like...a cartoon. That'd be nice."

"Yeah. Yeah. It'd be about...a kid that blows up after eating too much cheeseburgers!"

I laughed for real this time, imagining a picture of that.

"Yeah, and the kid that he bullied at school goes out and celebrates by eating...cheeseburgers."

"Yeah," he said, between breaths, "But he just shrinks or something. Shrinks until he's an inch tall."

I nodded, not being able to speak clearly. "Yeah, he's short, but he's still just as fat from the cheeseburgers."

Vern rocked back in his seat, slapping his knee and holding his stomach; I, of course, laughed silently, shaking all the while. I must admit, it was slightly strange to be talking to someone like this. Before, I would always be sitting in class, thinking about "what if" whatever happened and laughing quietly to myself about it. I'd never quite met anybody who shared the same humor as me. We went on like that for a while until his mom called us for dinner.

We sat down at the table with the knifes and forks and plates set out on a tablecloth just like on television. At my house, my mom would make dinner most of the time, but we never actually sat down at ate together, not unless we had a guest over or something; and even then, she never laid it out quite like that.

Mrs. Tessio carried out a dish of a whole baked chicken, a smile plastered on her red lips, and set it down right in front of me. I wasn't sure what to do...did she want me to cut it or something or did she just happen to lay it right in my lap?

"Well, go ahead, dear. Cut yourself a piece."

I looked around at Mr. Tessio to Vern, who seemed to be rather eager for me to go ahead and cut it so he could have some, and back to Mrs. Tessio; they were all looking at me. Really, no one should have to handle a sharp knife under that kind of pressure. Someone could get hurt. I awkwardly cut the side of the chicken, cutting more skin than meat.

I expected Vern's mom to encourage me to cut another piece, but instead, she pushed the dish down to her son and sat down.

That baked chicken, cut broccoli, and macaroni and cheese; that was what we had. The chicken was dry and the broccoli was tasteless...however, the mac n' cheese was great. I can eat any kind of macaroni and cheese any day and love it.

"So, kids," his mother started, politely suggesting some more chicken to me, "how's the project coming? How far have you gotten?"

Vern and I looked at each other, both probably considering telling her that we'd spent the last hour talking about cheeseburgers. I don't know why we felt so threatened by his mother, but I suppose it was because she had that same sort of controlling air to her like my own mom...except my mom just came out with it.

"Um..." I started, feeling as though the question had been more directed towards me, "Well, we've just been sharing ideas so far...don't want to rush art, you know."

"Oh, _yes_," she said in voice that she obviously thought sounded mysterious. I smiled and swallowed down my last bite of rubber broccoli.

**Well, that's chapter 2. Hope you liked it!**

**Get A Room: **thanks! Glad you like it so far!

**StormShadow21:** Yay, a nice long review. Well, I suppose you could call this a "Vern fic" since (as you can already see) Vern has a rather large part in it, but as far as romance goes...I'll never tell. Yeah, I never go up and ask to be paired up with someone...I just don't want to seem–you know–_needy_. Thanks for reviewing.


	3. Ya Ya

**Hello there. My attempt at getting more reviews didn't work...what's new?**

**Get A Room: The..._best_? Gee, I feel special! (Hey, that actually sounded sarcastic, but I'm actually being serious. It's sad isn't it?)**

**Stargazer-Lillies: Well, I'm glad that _some_one is interested...and reviewing at the same time. Well, read on and I hope this doesn't get boring any time soon because I hate those stories that get...uh, nevermind.**

**And now for...**

**Chapter 3: Ya Ya**

After that night at Vern's, we became associates. I wouldn't exactly say friends; we didn't talk much outside of art class, just a wave or a quiet "hey" or something along those lines in the hall way. Although I was glad about meeting Vern, I was careful about becoming so chummy too soon. I reminded myself that that type of thing–having a nice time with a particular person–was fairly normal and that becoming clingy would most likely ruin the possibility of having a very good friendship with Vern.

Visual Arts wasn't quite so bad anymore. On the days that we worked together in class, Vern and I would spend the time doodling absent-mindedly while discussing the hilarity of Mrs. Kelly's physical features, the latest episode of _The Munsters_, my favorite television show, or who was to perform on _American Bandstand _the next night.

I was still keeping what I considered a healthy distance that Friday afternoon during lunch. I was sitting by the window at an empty table for six, as I usually did, writing, as I usually did. I was working on an alternative poem, as I referred to them. I hated poetry and yet, I was good at writing it (or so I like to think); therefore, my risque rhyme schemes were called _alternative_ poems.

_There once was a man_

_who could kill anything with one hand._

_This cat's name was Lance_

_and he could kill anything with one hand._

_When Lance was two,_

_his mother tried teaching him to tie his show,_

_but all Lance really could do_

_was say these two words: "fuck you"._

I paused thoughtfully, trying to figure out how Lance's life would progress from there. It wasn't at all very great, but it was all for fun, regardless.

_Maybe the it'd be better in prose_, I thought and was just about to add another spicy line when Vern walked up to the table with a tray in his hands.

"Hey, Darla, how's it going?"

My pen relaxed in my hand as I looked up at Vern and there was a small "_tiddle_" sound as it dropped to the tile floor.

"Oh. Hey, Vern," I said, searching for my only writing utensil under the table, not daring to touch the germ-infested floor. After a while I sat up, realizing that I was not just a passing greeting that Vern was giving me, but subtly still continued to look for my pen around me.

"Can I sit here?" he asked, watching me intently, "My friends aren't here yet and you're alone, so..."

"Yeah, of course!" I said a little too eagerly, and I closed my notebook and set it in my lap.

He smiled and sat down across from me. We sat silently for a short while as I stared into space and Vern settled down in his new seat.

"So, how's it goin'?" I said and then thinking, _God, why do I always have to say that?_ It seemed to be a habit of mine lately.

"It's going," he said with grilled cheese in his enlarged left cheek then, after a few moment's hesitation, "How come you sit here by yourself?"

I shrugged, wishing he hadn't brought it up. My lack of social skills wasn't exactly a comforting subject.

"'Cause there's no one to sit with elsewhere...besides, it's nice being on your own sometimes." It was true. I needed a break from the constant giggling and incessant dramatics of my peers every once in a while.

"What do you do?"

I didn't see why this was such an interesting subject, but I liked talking to Vern anyway. "I don't know...write, read...think."

"What do you write?"

Now, I really hated it when people asked that. I don't know why, but it's just sort of annoying. I was saved from having to answer an answer I knew would be extremely vague and unsatisfactory for Vern by two boys. They sat on either side of Vern.

"Hey, Vern," said the one on the left, a blonde-headed boy with a haircut which was later made famous by The Beatles and a red button-up shirt. Then, noticing me, he added, "Who's this, your girlfriend?"

The other boy laughed slightly and shook his head. I knew him: Gordie Lachance. He was in Geometry with me.

"Has wittle Vernie got a _girlfriend_? Aww, do you hold her hand and–"

"Shutup, Teddy!" Vern protested, but this only seemed to add fuel to the fire.

"Do you kiss her, and hug her, and wuv her all day long?" Teddy laughed and rocked back and forth, holding his stomach: _eee-ee-eeee_. That got me laughing, but I held it in and merely smiled...I don't know why, but I just felt like if I started laughing he'd stop and then they'd all turn to me and completely be like "what the hell are _you_ laughing at?". It's weird, but it _has_ happened at times.

"Her name's Darla and she isn't my girlfriend," Vern said grumpily, but good-naturedly. I was glad too, 'cause I couldn't count how many times people have been joking around like that and then the guy will get frustrated and say something like "why would I like _her_?" or something and then everyone starts laughing and...God, I'm depressing myself.

"Dahhla," said Teddy in a fake French accent, taking my hand, "_Merci beaucoup, madame_."

I would have laughed, but it was a little strange since I didn't know the guy. Besides, people didn't usually talk to me right off the bat like that.

"Um...hey," I said lamely.

Vern laughed heartily. "Yeah, that's Teddy and this is Gordie," he said, hitching a thumb over his shoulder.

"Yeah, I know," I said, quietly, not looking at Gordie.

Gordie looked up at me as if he was just noticing that I was there.

"You do?"

I nodded. "Yeah, we're in second period together."

He just stared at me for a while, trying to place my face.

"Oh _yeah_," he said, realizing who I was, "You sit, like...two seats in front of me, right?"

I nodded. Hell, I was surprised he knew me; in class he just always seemed to be in his own little world.

"So how do you two crazy kids know each other?" said Teddy, looking at Vern then at me.

"She's my partner for that art project thing I told you about," Vern said and then took a swig of apple juice. "Ah! Hits the spot!"

We all gave Vern a weird look.

"What, it's true!" he said, completely serious, "Apple juice is way sweeter at school. It doesn't even taste like apples."

"That's because it probably isn't," Gordie said, sounding bored with the conversation already.

"Yeah, it even says 'artificially flavored' on the back," I said quietly. Gordie and Teddy looked up at me, surprised that I had said anything, then looked at the back of Vern's juice carton.

"Well, well," Teddy said, looking at us all as if he had just discovered something amazingly ironic, "Proof that they're poisoning our precious young bodies."

"I'd rather have this than the grocery store kind." said Vern stubbornly.

"Yeah, whatever. Why am I even talking about apple juice?" Teddy shook his head and suddenly turned to me, "So, are you a new student here?"

I began to drum nervously on my notebook. "No. I've lived in Castle Rock my whole life." God, what was I, invisible? I mean, I noticed _him_ in the hallways once or twice.

"So I'm guessing your life's as pathetic as ours, huh?" Gordie said, resting his head on his hand.

"Hey, my life is _not_ pathetic," said Teddy.

"Hey, guys," came a voice from behind me. I turned around the face the infamous Chris Chambers, "Is this yours?"

He held out my pen to me. I nodded ever so slightly and took the pen from him slowly.

"Thanks."

A faint smile spread across his face and he looked up as if trying to remember something. "Your name's uh...Darla Thassel, right?"

I nodded, feeling unbelievably happy that he knew my name.

**(Sarcastically) Whoah! Chris Chambers, play some scary music! See, people, I begin to hate my stories when people** **fail to reassure my confidence in them. I live off of reviews! I don't like the ending, but I didn't know how to end it and still be able to begin the next chapter with her talking about Chris...Chris, what a fox! They all are. Anyway, I'm rambling (but hopefully that's made you feel a wee bit sorry for me and maybe you'll review...? Well, I can hope, can't I?).**


	4. He's So Fine

**Chapter 4: "He's So Fine"**

I admired Chris Chambers in a strange way, considering I didn't know him at all. The only thing I did know about him was what people said about him and his family, none of which could be considered at all flattering. I suppose that his reputation played a big part in why I ever even noticed him and maybe the fact that he seemed to embody all that was Rock N' Roll. He was pretty tough from what I could tell–I mean you don't get a bad reputation out of thin air–he wasn't a jock, he wore t-shirts...and I know you guys are probably saying to yourselves "What's the big deal about wearing t-shirts? Everyone wears t-shirts!" Well, not when I was fifteen. This whole t-shirt fad came straight from the 70's rockers. Only the real cool guys back then wore t-shirts on a regular basis.

_Anyway_, so Chris was pretty cool in my eyes. Like I said, he was tough, but he wasn't dirty or mean. I mean, there's a big difference. A person is tough because they _have_ to be tough; a person is mean because they get a thrill out of it or something. From my experience, the tough kids pretty much keep to themselves unless they're confronted in some way, but a mean person is the type to go searching for the quiet kids that they know–or, rather, _think_–won't do anything to them.

So, the fact that not just anyone, but _Chris Chambers_, a guy I actually thought was cool, knew who I was–and not just because I was "the weird girl that never talks to anyone"–but...well, I don't know why, but it was nice. Hell, maybe he sort of admired me too. Maybe he'd been–you know–watching me or something, like in the hallways but I just never noticed. Maybe...just possibly...he even liked me. It was unlikely, but I can hope, right? He sat on my left, across from Teddy.

"How are ya, Chris," Vern said brightly.

Chris shrugged. "Okay, I guess. No worse than any other day, right?" He laughed, but it sounded awful strange to me, maybe even a little nervous; then, he threw me a look that I probably wouldn't have even caught if I hadn't been looking straight at him.

"Yeah, right," continued Vern who apparently had not noticed anything out of the ordinary, "Nothing ever happens in this stupid town."

"Seriously," said Teddy, shaking his head, "It's like everyone's got a board on their ass or something."

"People are so uptight here," joined in Gordie with a smirk on his soft features, "I bet some of 'em got that board _up_ their ass."

We all laughed (yes, even me) and agreed in some way.

"Oh, hey, Darla!" exclaimed Vern suddenly with yet another mouthful of food, "I heard you going with that Jake guy. How come you never said anything?"

"Jake who?" Teddy asked, sitting forward with interest, "Surely not Jake _Braddock_." They were now all staring at me, eagerly waiting for an answer.

Yeah, that was another thing. There was this stupid rumor going around that I had been dating some guy named Jake Braddock, whom I had never seen or talked to or heard of ever in my life. It was driving me nuts, really, because I'm very picky about a lot of things, especially people knowing the truth about me. I mean, they can say what they want, but at least get your facts straight. Besides, I didn't want this Jake guy thinking I liked him. He was probably some square from the outskirts of town near the city anyway–exactly the types of guys that I loathed. I thought I would explode if I heard his name one more time, but I figured that wouldn't exactly be the greatest first impression.

"No way. I don't even know he is."

Vern and Teddy looked at each other, smirks on both of their faces.

"If you don't know who he is, then why is everyone saying you and him are practically going steady?" said Vern as if it was the greatest question in the history of mankind.

"Yeah, that's what I heard." Chris joined in suddenly. I'd momentarily forgotten that he was even sitting beside me. So that's how he knew who I was...well, so much for my hopes.

"Well, it's not true," I stated firmly, hoping they would just drop it.

"Sure," said Teddy sarcastically, "You know who I'd like to go with? Madge Littleton..." And I spent the rest of the lunch period unwillingly listening to him, Gordie, and Vern go on and _on_ about what girl looked the best and what girl didn't look so great and who would grow up to be fat and what not. Sure, I knew guys talked about that type of stuff all the time–it was only natural–but you'd think they would have a little bit of common decency to keep it amongst themselves. Chris and I seemed to be the only silent ones and I wondered why he wasn't joining in on the conversation (not that I _wanted_ to hear him discuss who had the largest chest in school). He was never quiet whenever I saw him with his friends.

The bell rang and I inwardly groaned. Hey, anything's better than class.

"Hey, Darla!"

I turned to see Vern jogging toward me. I waited for him to catch up.

"Walk you to class?" he suggested as I collected my Chemistry and English books out of the bottom of my locker.

"Um..." I pondered. It was strange for a guy to ask me that; that was just always the type of thing that guys would say to girls they liked, or at least that's what _I_ thought. I entertained the thought of Vern being attracted to me, but decided that I was overreacting and that that was what friends asked friends in the real world. "Sure. I don't want to make you late, though."

He shrugged. "I won't be. My class isn't that far away. So how'd you like the guys?"

I thought that to be sort of an odd question, considering what a good portion of our conversation had been about, but said, "They're all cool. Have you guys known each other for a long time?"

"Yeah," he said reminiscently, as if he was remembering when they'd met or something, "Seems like forever, but it's probably only been about five or six years. I guess that's pretty long. We're not as good of friends as we used to be, thought. But I guess stuff like happens all the time, right?"

I stared down at my moving feet below me and suddenly felt extremely depressed, "Yeah. I guess it does."

"So, what about your friends?" he asked, ironically contradicting the way I was feeling, "What are they like...or what _were_ they like?"

I suddenly felt very self-conscious, as this realization that Vern was aware that I didn't have any friends hit me. I'd had friends before, of course, but the only ones I could think of right then were the kind that everyone has in kindergarten, which I figured didn't really count.

"I don't know," I said lamely, "I guess I've never really had any really good friends."

"Oh," he said as we reached my classroom, then his face lit up again and he added, "Well, at least you have some now!"

He then waved goodbye to me and began toward his own classroom. I watched him until he disappeared around the corner and then went inside the room and waited for the second bell to ring.

"Darla?"

I turned around in my seat to face Brianna Reed, a girl who I found particularly annoying. She thought that I was cool–although she always referred to me as "risque"–but she was completely clueless as to what I was like or anything else in the real world. I guess she liked me like someone would be attracted to a "bad boy"; I was a thrill. Well, I didn't exactly like to be looked at as a source of entertainment, but I was still nice to her just because I'd feel guilty if I told her what I really thought of her.

"What?" I said, trying not to sound too snappy.

"Why were you just talking to Vern Tessio?"

The way she said it is the way your mother would talk to you right after she finds out you have a boyfriend (well, not _my_ mother, but you get the point).

"Why do you want to know?"

I'd meant it as in "it's none of your business", but it sounded more like "yes, mom, I do have boyfriend, but I'm still going to act as if I don't."

"Well...it's just that," she took a deep breath and plowed on, "I don't think that a smart girl like you should be hanging around with people like him. He'll bring down before too long."

I stared for a long while. The nerve on some people.

"What do you mean 'people like him'?"

She shrugged, all of sudden trying to act polite because she had realized that I was upset, "Oh, just...people that won't benefit you. I mean, c'mon Darla, we both he's not going anywhere anytime soon."

_Well, _I thought, smiling for some unfathomable reason, _now would be the perfect time to tell her what you've been wanting to say since you met her._

"You know, Brianna, some people–like me for instance–don't just make friends because they need them to progress in life. When it comes to that, I can do it on my own."

She shook her head as if I was a three-year-old who couldn't understand the concept of friendship. "I didn't say to _use_ them, I just meant–"

"No, I understand what you mean perfectly. You mean that people like him will hinder me in the future and that I should be careful."

She nodded, relieved that I apparently wasn't angry.

"Well," I went on, feeling more and more elated as I went on, "Have you ever thought that maybe–just maybe–_I _might be like him?"

And with that, I turned around and smiled although guilt was slowly tying my stomach in complicated knots. I had the greatest urge to turn around and shout "Just kidding!" and laugh heartily about the whole thing, but I knew that I had told the truth...but what I also knew was that I had just gotten rid of one of the few people that actually liked me.

/\ /\ /\ 

That afternoon, I lay on my bed in an old t-shirt of my dad's and shorts with my hands behind my head, staring up at the picture of Marlon Brando I had pinned to the ceiling. I was thinking of Chris and how quiet he had been this afternoon at lunch while the other's carried on–just like Brando: cool but reserved. I kept scolding myself for thinking that way about Chris. I'd been through crush after crush and they'd never turned out good and now that I had been able to sustain myself from them for what, to me, felt like ten years, I certainly was not eager to go through yet another. Chris was good looking and there was no denying that, but it was becoming much more than that the longer I thought about it.

I looked over at the alarm clock. Thirty minutes before Vern would be arriving. I quickly put on some white capri pants and a black- and white-striped shirt and had just finished brushing my hair which hung down to my shoulder blades when the doorbell rang and I heard my mom open the door.

I walked out of my room, trying to look natural as I walked into the hallway and Vern, my mom, and an older guy that I had seen around town turned to face me.

"Oh, there she is," my mom said and I noticed that she sounded uncharacteristically overjoyed.

"Hey, Darla," Vern said, walking right past my mom into the house. He turned to the older guy, "Billy, you can pick me up around seven."

Billy looked from me to Vern as if we were wasting his time, nodded, and then walked back to the blue truck that was waiting outside without a word.

My mom closed the door and told us that we could use the living room as long as we didn't get the carpet messy.

We had been working for about half an hour on what we hadn't done the previous week when Vern broke the silence.

"Hey, do you want to go to the movies tomorrow?"

I had been planning to go anyway to see _Cape Fear_, so having someone there with me who wasn't my mom would just make it all the better.

"Will Chris be there?" I asked, and felt like slapping myself as soon as the words had left my mouth. Could I be any more obvious? However, Vern didn't seem to notice.

"Yeah, I think so. He said he might come if Gordie does...but I think it'll just be me and Teddy, that is if you don't come."

"I'll come." I said, after a while. I just wouldn't say anything to my mom about being there with Teddy and Vern. It was going to be simple.

**Well, that's all I've got for now. Thanks for all the reviews; I'm really glad people like it (and actually think I'm funny!).**


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